What I learned from the Pussy Riot trial

The punk band are on trial because of who they are, not what they did.

I've just got back from spending two days in Moscow observing the Pussy Riot trial and meeting some of the activists and lawyers involved in the Free Pussy Riot campaign. The Russian legal system, I now know, is rather strange and unpredictable, but I think yesterday saw the end of the trial. We had closing speeches from the prosecuting lawyer, the 'victims'' lawyers (i.e. those who complained about the performance and claim to be insulted or traumatised by it), and the defence, plus final speeches from the three defendants, Nadya, Masha and Katya. The court resumes at 11.30am on Wednesday (8.30am UK time) when we may or may not have a verdict.

As ever, it's frustrating that public awareness and political momentum only comes to a head when it's almost too late. I'd asked a couple of parliamentary questions about it, and the minister for Europe confirmed that the UK was concerned about the case, was critical of the way it was being conducted, and was going to raise it at the next Human Rights dialogue with Russia, on July 13th. But apart from that, my tweets and retweets seemed to be ignored, and only the music blogs - which is where I first heard about the case - were taking any interest.

Once the trial had got underway, however, press attention increased exponentially, and there have been some excellent articles published during the last week or so. I think the problem at first was that, in the UK, people simply didn't take it seriously. It was just a silly stunt, by a band with a silly name. I don't think people realised the wider significance of what the arrests said about who wields power in Russia, and what kind of society it is. "They violated the traditions of our country" said one lawyer. Another - the female lawyer for the victims - seemed to imply that not being an orthodox Christian was in itself a good enough reason for sending someone to jail, and then went on to describe feminism as "a mortal sin". It's clear from watching the trial that Pussy Riot are facing jail sentences because of who they are, what they stand for, what they believe in - not because of what they did.

I've been asked by many people what would have been the response if Pussy Riot had pulled this stunt in St Paul's instead. As people have reminded me, Peter Tatchell was charged with a public order offence after he stormed the pulpit in the middle of a sermon by the Archbishop of Canterbury and ended up with an £18 fine. Some have pointed to the draconian sentences handed out to last year's rioters - which I criticised at the time - but I don't think that bears direct comparison. Yes, the aftermath of the riots was about the powers that be wanting to show themselves to be tough, and there was a lot of politics behind it, but the rioters had committed actual criminal offences. Pussy Riot have been prosecuted under an ancient ecclesiastical law that hasn't been invoked for centuries, because the authorities wanted to find them guilty of something, and something that carried a harsh - maximum seven years - sentence too.

Plenty has been written elsewhere about the shortcomings in the trial process and the dubious nature of the charges brought. The thing that struck me most was how one-sided the evidence was. The defence simply weren't allowed to call witnesses, other than a couple of character witnesses, and weren't able to cross-examine the prosecution witnesses/ victims properly either, with the judge either rushing them through it or ruling their questions inadmissible.

On the first day, I was in court, which was the sixth day of the trial, it was mostly about 'petitions' being presented by the defence lawyers and the women - petitions as in requests, for example, to be able to call expert witnesses. The judge dismissed this, saying they'd had plenty of time to call such witnesses already, even though she'd not allowed them to call anyone when they'd tried before!

Apart from the concerns about trumped up charges and justice not being done in the courtroom, there is also concern about the way the women are being treated, The women were being kept in a jail a couple of hours drive - in good traffic - from the court. On Monday they arrived at court at 8am although the hearing didn't actually start till gone 10.45, and spent the rest of the day in their glass box in court or in the holding cells on the floor above. The day's hearing finished about 9.30-ish, so that would have meant gerting back to the prison by midnight. They complained in court that they weren't being fed during the day, were only getting two-three hours sleep a night, and weren't getting time to speak to their lawyers.

So what happens now? Well, a verdict is expected in the next day or so. The public and political response will, I suppose, depend on the severity of the sentence. The lawyers have said they will appeal, possibly taking it to the European Court of Human Rights. The activists I met are well aware of the risks they face in speaking out, but are determined to keep up the campaign. They say that a certain level of political activism is tolerated, but once you're on the authorities radar, you'd better be careful.

This is about much more than three young women pulling a silly stunt in a cathedral and getting into more trouble than they bargained for. Let's hope they're released by the court tomorrow, but if not, let's be prepared to fight for them.

Members of female punk band Pussy Riot sit inside a glass enclosure during a court hearing in Moscow on 8 August. Photograph: Getty Images.

Kerry McCarthy is the Labour MP for Bristol East and the shadow foreign minister.

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What it’s like to fall victim to the Mail Online’s aggregation machine

I recently travelled to Iraq at my own expense to write a piece about war graves. Within five hours of the story's publication by the Times, huge chunks of it appeared on Mail Online – under someone else's byline.

I recently returned from a trip to Iraq, and wrote an article for the Times on the desecration of Commonwealth war cemeteries in the southern cities of Amara and Basra. It appeared in Monday’s paper, and began:

“‘Their name liveth for evermore’, the engraving reads, but the words ring hollow. The stone on which they appear lies shattered in a foreign field that should forever be England, but patently is anything but.”

By 6am, less than five hours after the Times put it online, a remarkably similar story had appeared on Mail Online, the world’s biggest and most successful English-language website with 200 million unique visitors a month.

It began: “Despite being etched with the immortal line: ‘Their name liveth for evermore’, the truth could not be further from the sentiment for the memorials in the Commonwealth War Cemetery in Amara.”

The article ran under the byline of someone called Euan McLelland, who describes himself on his personal website as a “driven, proactive and reliable multi-media reporter”. Alas, he was not driven or proactive enough to visit Iraq himself. His story was lifted straight from mine – every fact, every quote, every observation, the only significant difference being the introduction of a few errors and some lyrical flights of fancy. McLelland’s journalistic research extended to discovering the name of a Victoria Cross winner buried in one of the cemeteries – then getting it wrong.

Within the trade, lifting quotes and other material without proper acknowledgement is called plagiarism. In the wider world it is called theft. As a freelance, I had financed my trip to Iraq (though I should eventually recoup my expenses of nearly £1,000). I had arranged a guide and transport. I had expended considerable time and energy on the travel and research, and had taken the risk of visiting a notoriously unstable country. Yet McLelland had seen fit not only to filch my work but put his name on it. In doing so, he also precluded the possibility of me selling the story to any other publication.

I’m being unfair, of course. McLelland is merely a lackey. His job is to repackage and regurgitate. He has no time to do what proper journalists do – investigate, find things out, speak to real people, check facts. As the astute media blog SubScribe pointed out, on the same day that he “exposed” the state of Iraq’s cemeteries McLelland also wrote stories about the junior doctors’ strike, British special forces fighting Isis in Iraq, a policeman’s killer enjoying supervised outings from prison, methods of teaching children to read, the development of odourless garlic, a book by Lee Rigby’s mother serialised in the rival Mirror, and Michael Gove’s warning of an immigration free-for-all if Britain brexits. That’s some workload.

Last year James King published a damning insider’s account of working at Mail Online for the website Gawker. “I saw basic journalism standards and ethics casually and routinely ignored. I saw other publications’ work lifted wholesale. I watched editors...publish information they knew to be inaccurate,” he wrote. “The Mail’s editorial model depends on little more than dishonesty, theft of copyrighted material, and sensationalism so absurd that it crosses into fabrication.”

Mail Online strenuously denied the charges, but there is plenty of evidence to support them. In 2014, for example, it was famously forced to apologise to George Clooney for publishing what the actor described as a bogus, baseless and “premeditated lie” about his future mother-in-law opposing his marriage to Amal Alamuddin.

That same year it had to pay a “sizeable amount” to a freelance journalist named Jonathan Krohn for stealing his exclusive account in the Sunday Telegraph of being besieged with the Yazidis on northern Iraq’s Mount Sinjar by Islamic State fighters. It had to compensate another freelance, Ali Kefford, for ripping off her exclusive interview for the Mirror with Sarah West, the first female commander of a Navy warship.

Incensed by the theft of my own story, I emailed Martin Clarke, publisher of Mail Online, attaching an invoice for several hundred pounds. I heard nothing, so emailed McLelland to ask if he intended to pay me for using my work. Again I heard nothing, so I posted both emails on Facebook and Twitter.

I was astonished by the support I received, especially from my fellow journalists, some of them household names, including several victims of Mail Online themselves. They clearly loathed the website and the way it tarnishes and debases their profession. “Keep pestering and shaming them till you get a response,” one urged me. Take legal action, others exhorted me. “Could a groundswell from working journalists develop into a concerted effort to stop the theft?” SubScribe asked hopefully.

Then, as pressure from social media grew, Mail Online capitulated. Scott Langham, its deputy managing editor, emailed to say it would pay my invoice – but “with no admission of liability”. He even asked if it could keep the offending article up online, only with my byline instead of McLelland’s. I declined that generous offer and demanded its removal.

When I announced my little victory on Facebook some journalistic colleagues expressed disappointment, not satisfaction. They had hoped this would be a test case, they said. They wanted Mail Online’s brand of “journalism” exposed for what it is. “I was spoiling for a long war of attrition,” one well-known television correspondent lamented. Instead, they complained, a website widely seen as the model for future online journalism had simply bought off yet another of its victims.